


Two addictions of Dr Goodweather

by SMarley



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMarley/pseuds/SMarley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, sexual tension is just off the charts. Neither of them expected to find himself in such a situation. </p><p>NB! No plot, just sex, the author is following the characters who don't know where it all leads them as well. !!Work in progress!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrangegirlsmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangegirlsmind/gifts).



> This scene was inspired by this gifset - http://guselizalde.tk/post/126413649902 as well as the scene from s02e05.

Eph stands in front of the mirror in their improvised bathroom. He needs to shave if he wants to look like a human being. Instead, he keeps knocking back one glass after another. _Recovering alcoholic_ , he thinks, smirking at his reflection.

“What a perfect solution for all the problems in the world.” A male voice comes from the doorway. Eph has come to hating this quiet, mellow voice speaking with a heavy accent he cannot identify for the life of him. “Such a shame it cannot bring your wife back from the dead.”

 _Who told him_ , Eph wonders for some reason. _Zach?_ No, his son still believes stubbornly that his mother is very much alive. Well, technically, she is, of course, but…. _No_ , he corrects himself, _it must have been Nora_. She seems to have developed a strange, deep liking for this… creature.

“Do not poke your nose into what you don’t understand!” Eph regrets snarling as soon as the words escape his lips.

“What I don’t understand precisely?” Quinlan eyes half-naked Dr Goodweather from top to toe. He is in good shape for the man who is unable to make it through the day without booze. _He is not even a coward_ , Quinlan admits. He has seen mortal people losing their grip after catching a glimpse of what this man has seen too often in his long, eventful life of a vampire hunter. This doctor did not.

“The question is,” Eph puts his glass on the sink with a bang,  glaring at Quinlan’s reflection in the mirror because he does not have balls to look him in the face. His ugly, terrifying, and covertly handsome face. “What do you understand, to begin with?! You have no family, no home, no—“

“I had a wife once, and a daughter. The Master killed them both.”

Eph hates this feeling, which he experiences when he assumes something about Quinlan and finds himself proven wrong. It gets on Eph’s nerves so harshly – especially in this very moment – that he pours himself some vodka or whatever it’s he drinks. He’s no longer capable of telling vodka from whiskey or scotch by taste unless it’s specified on a bottle. Sadly, however much he swallows, it doesn’t bring him closer to breaking free from this bitter truth: if he wasn’t good enough for Kelly, how can he be good enough for the man with no weaknesses and affections?

“You don’t have a son who reminds you at every turn that he wants to see his mother.” Although Eph knows that he has already lost this battle, he is dying to save appearances. He cannot let the vampire hunter see through him. Not if he can help it.

“Alcoholic intoxication isn’t your best assistant in explaining to him what happened to her.”

Eph snorts. “I’ve tried. Once or twice. He wouldn’t listen.”

Against his deepest instincts and the resolution to stay away from Dr Goodweather, Quinlan steps towards him and collects the glass from his hand. “Nobody listens to the man whose breath smells of alcohol.”

His sudden – and welcomed – closeness hypnotizes Eph and he fails to refrain from turning his head to take a look at the dhampir himself, not just at his reflection. His eyes meet his grim, inhuman eyes of light blue colour with pitch-black pupils.

“Nobody listens to me even when I’m sober.” Eph blurts out against his will. It sounds awfully pathetic, so he closes his eyes to hide humiliation he feels. “Maybe, I just wasn’t born a persuasive talker.”

“Just because the Master has fooled Mr Palmer into being his ally," Quinlan is surprised to hear his tone soften. Eph is no less surprised. He opens his eyes and stares at the dhampir in disbelief. "It doesn’t mean that the others won’t listen to you once they’re informed of what you and Nora have created.”

 _Great_ , Eph groans mentally, _now she confides to him_. And who really knows which side he is on? Most importantly, who cares? Not so long ago, Eph saw it clearly – as a doctor from CDC, he had to stop this epidemic at any cost. Right now? He doesn’t give a fuck about anything. Except for the glass Quinlan has taken away from him and the man of himself. Booze and Quinlan; Quinlan and booze. Two addictions, he cannot be cured of.

“Let’s not rush things.” Eph seizes the glass to get it back before he realizes how ambiguous it is, what he’s said just only. _Oh God damn it…_

His fingers brush against the dhampir’s. He likes its pleasant coldness. He is not as warm as any human is, but he’s not as cold as any vampire is. He’s somewhere in the middle. Not too warm, not too cold. Eph imagines what it would be like to touch his naked skin. Would it become warmer if Quinlan were aroused? Or colder? Would it still be pleasant if he pressed himself to him? And how would they do it if vampires do not have genitals? Or he does have it? Abruptly, Eph’s look moves down, to the belt of Quinlan's black trousers. He is so eager to find out…

“As you say." Quinlan didn’t plan to agree with him. Nevertheless, he lets go of the glass. "You’re the doctor.”

He didn’t plan to retreat, either. He never retreats. Yet he goes off. Fast. Way too fast as if running away. _You don’t need another human pet_ , he reasons with himself in so doing. _They’re mortal, and vulnerable. They fade away and die sooner or later_. However, Dr Goodweather’s eyes staring at his fly and the smell of alcohol on his breath are all Quinlan can think of.


	2. Washington

Eph sits at the counter in a hotel bar with a glass of brandy. It’s not good but far better than that beer he had right before he threw Barnes off the train in self-defense. And far worse than vodka he drank back in New York, in the bathroom, which associates with Quinlan for him now. With the dhampir’s cold fingers and pale eyes. With his own curiosity that cannot be bated. With the demanding desire that never truly leaves him alone.

“It won’t help you to win their hearts and minds.” Eph’s hand with the glass freezes halfway to his mouth when he hears this familiar voice.

“Wha—“ In panic, he looks around, unable to process the fact that Quinlan, who was supposed to be in New York right now, is here and nobody in the room pays attention to the tall man in black coat with a sword strapped to his back.

“How did you get here?!” He hisses although he wants to yell at the top of his lungs. He cannot yell at Quinlan to express his concern about him in this or any other way. He can only hiss, pretending that the vampire hunter is the last person on Earth he wants to see at any time.

Quinlan makes himself comfortable on the stool next to Eph and leans his elbow on the counter. His knee almost touches Eph’s thigh. _He looks good in a suit_ , the dhampir notes. _And worried as hell. About me?_ He laughs internally at this idea.

“The Ancients have people everywhere, including Washington.”

Dr Goodweather nearly drops the glass on the counter top instead of draining it in one gulp. “What are you doing here?! Spying on me on the Elders’ behalf? To make sure I won’t give the human government too much power over your kind?”

“They’re not my kind.” Quinlan is well-aware of how icy his voice must sound.

Since the dhampir sits with his back upon the entrance, Eph is the first to notice two police officers coming in. _They are after me_ , this frantic thought flashes across in his mind. _They’ve found Barnes’ body_. He jumps at his feet before he knows it. He cannot be caught. Not now. Not yet. So, he rushes out, in the opposite direction with no clue as to where he’s heading. Soon, he finds himself in service rooms and passes by a kitchen, a room with lockers, and a big pantry. There is no way out in sight. All the doors are either locked or lead nowhere.

Someone’s hand falls on his shoulder at some point. “Calm down, Doc. They’re not following.” Eph starts and swings. Quinlan stands right behind him, and they are in some empty corridor. Alone. _Idiot_ , he chastises himself. “If you weren’t so strung-up by booze, you would be able to make out that you weren't the purpose of their visit.” Quinlan’s tone is still cold and strict. 

It’s when Eph realizes that he’s had enough of this bullshit. He jerks towards the dhampir and grabs him by the lapels of his coat. He was going to drive Quinlan into the wall, but it’s like trying to budge a huge, lifeless rock, and Eph isn’t a physically weak man. Quinlan is a lot like the Master, in many aspects; however, he has a heart. It beats. The measured heartbeat echoes in every cell of Eph's body, and it makes him painfully hard. Unfortunately, there is no way to hide very intense erection from another person if nothing separates you from each other except for a few layers of clothes. _Shit…_

“You should stop sticking around if you don’t like my nasty habits!” He growls right in the impassive face of the vampire hunter and steps back. It's too late, though, the cat is out of the bag, to his shame.  

A sudden blow in the chest sends him flying into the other wall. In the next second, Quinlan forces him further into it with his monolithic body. He bends his face closer to Eph’s to state quietly: “I didn’t say I don’t like them.” With these words, he moves a bit away to drag the leather glove off his hand. _He never does it_ , Eph recalls absent-mindedly, watching him.

Having shoved it in the pocket, Quinlan returns to him and this time, his cold fingers unbutton the belt of his stylish black trousers and undo the fly. A muffled groan bursts out of Eph's mouth as they slide inside the trunks to release his manhood and wind around it. Several strokes are all that takes for Quinlan to make him come and all the willpower Eph has left is required not to let his knees give way under pressure of his climax.

As the dhampir moves back once again to put the glove on, he doesn’t think of how slippery his hand is now thanks to Dr Goodweather or how uncomfortable it will be to fight or shoot with slick fingers. He couldn’t care less about wiping it dry. He will keep it. Now it belongs to him.

A mobile phone begins to buzz in the inner pocket of Eph’s jacket.

“You’d better pick up.” Quinlan turns his back upon him and marches away. Or rather, he’s running away. For the second time in a row. Defeated, not victorious.


	3. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I struggled with choosing the direction in which the story would go owing to the speculations in the Strain fandom concerning Quinlan's manhood. Mercifully, my dilemma was solved by Rupert Penry-Jones himself here - https://twitter.com/rpenryj/status/633880262305280000 
> 
> Also, I finally got around to watching episodes 7 and 8 of Season 2, so now I have settings for the next few chapters. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience! Hope you will enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.:)

_When the hell it all went wrong?_ Eph asks himself, sitting by the body of the blond-haired woman he’s almost fallen in love with. _How did this all end up in disaster?_ His shoulder is aching, and this pain makes him come back to the reality. He finds himself squeezing the gun in one hand from which he’s just shot the man sent to finish him and everyone helping him off. In the other hand, he still holds the phone with the Stoneheart logo as the wallpaper. _I can’t stay here_ , the first rational thought flashes across his mind. Shaking, he gets up to leave the room. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he stumbles on Quinlan walking up and at this very moment, Eph finally understands why the dhampir has followed him first to Washington, and then to this house. _Did he stand guard on the street last night?_ He wonders. _While I was having sex with Leigh in her flat? Isn’t that why the hitman has chosen to lie in wait for me at Rob’s place?_

Yet, he snarls out the exact opposite of the questions crowding in his head, “You are in the habit of getting late all the time, aren’t you?” For the reason that he knows his hint will hurt Quinlan who has always been too late to catch the Master and he wants him to be hurt, cut to the quick just as he was the other night when the dhampir turned his back upon him and went away without saying a word about what had happened or looking back.

Quinlan is too preoccupied with fighting his hunger stirred up by the smell of fresh blood coming from Dr Goodweather to register the insult. “Not that you’re unable to stand up for yourself on your own.” Having said this, he swings to walk down the stairs back to the main door. He’s eager to run far away once again because this smell enchants him, threatening to transform him into a monster that will never suit human’s taste. He lingers on the threshold, though, to cast a glance at the doctor, “My car’s outside. I’ll take you to New York.”

Hearing the steps behind as he proceeds from the porch to black Audi, he forbids himself to turn. It’s more than enough that he lost control of himself once. _From that night forward, that will never repeat itself_ , he promises himself, _not if I can help it._

In the past, sharing a car – or whatever else – with a human being has never been such a bad idea for Quinlan as it is now. Even if he’s behind the wheels and Dr Goodweather sprawls in the back seat. There is nowhere to hide in this small, cramped can from the smell of blood. His blood smells differently, however. Maybe, because he’s drunk. _He’s always drunk_ , Quinlan corrects himself, _in a varying degree_.

Eph craves for booze. Getting drunk seems to be the only way for him to live through the pain and the after-effects of shock. Still, he can’t bring himself to demand from the dhampir to pull over by a bar or liquor store. That would be humiliating, and he’s humiliated sufficiently by Quinlan’s disregard.

“I need to patch my shoulder up,” he says instead. “Stop by some drug store.”

It turns out that Quinlan knows better what Eph needs and a little bit later, the car halts by a veterinary clinic. After they break in, the dhampir doesn’t lift a finger to assist in gathering all the necessary tools and supplies. He simply watches Eph taking his jacket and shirt off and starts pacing the floor when Eph sets to treating his wound.

The longer it lasts, the more it gets on the doctor’s nerves. Having staunched the bleeding, Eph fails to contain himself any longer. He’s too irritated, agitated, and not drunk enough to bear it even for one more second. “For a vampire hunter, you’re too impatient.”

This time, Quinlan reacts with lighting speed by grabbing Eph by the throat and driving him into a cabinet with drugs. The glass of its door flies to bits and injures the doctor’s back. “For a genius with PhD, you’re too much of a fool,” Quinlan states coldly right in his face.

Eph can’t let it go. This is the first proper reaction to his dig he’s received. That, and, Dear Lord, there is no price that would possibly be called too high for discovering that he is able to stimulate him to response in this way. So he can't prevent himself from going farther by playing dirtier. “For such an emotionless person, you suck at keeping your hands to yourself,” he manages to utter sarcastically. “Or, maybe, this is the case because you’re incapable of doing anything else.” He lowers his gaze to look at the belt of Quinlan’s trousers expressively, “Vampires are agaimic, after all.”

“This irrepressible curiosity of yours, is it scientific or personal, Doctor?” Quinlan isn’t offended; he’s entertained. Humans – those of them who’re aware of the vampires’ existence and their anatomy – have always assumed that he doesn’t have a dick. Also, he’s rapturous: not only Dr Goodweather isn’t afraid of him but also he dares challenge him and doesn’t trouble himself with hiding his motives. It’s refreshing and arousing. _Maybe, he’s not as weak as he seems to be_ , Quinlan sniffs this intoxicating smell of blood mixed with alcohol, trying not to stare at his shirtless torso, _maybe, he’s not as weak as the others were_.

“Depends on what that intercourse of ours was – an experiment or a foreplay,” Eph openly provokes him.

 _What a sassy idiot_. Shamelessly, the dhampir enjoys it – this exchange of caustic remarks and this mutual sexual attraction that flares up like a match at first physical contact – as much as the fact that Dr Goodweather is fully ready to pass from words to deeds. Metaphorically and literally. There is only one thing Quinlan doesn’t enjoy - it’s how eagerly he’s just let the doctor draw him into the whirlpool of fantasizing about… _Don’t_ , he pulls himself up prior to releasing the man and stepping back.

He picks Dr Goodweather’s clothes. “Get dressed,” the dhampir commands, throwing the pile to him. “I’ll wait in the car.”


	4. Kiss

Hangover is Eph’s reckoning for hitting the bar right after Quinlan dropped him off outside of their headquarters and drove away. His head is splitting; his shoulder is aching. Last thing he wants to be faced with is Nora chatting unconstrainedly with the dhampir who sits on the edge of the table, too close to her and yet far enough not to hinder her cooking something. Dumbfounded by how painful it is to see him being nice and sociable with her, Eph freezes at the bottom of the stairs, unsure whether he can join them in the kitchen. In the next second, he gets angry. _Great_ : _at first, he hurls me out of the car like a lousy piece of shit, and now he’s flirting with her as cheery as he pleases._

“Eph!” Nora hails him, picking the frying pan up from the cooker to put its contents onto plates. “Are you hungry?”

“Not especially,” Eph finally comes in, feeling like he’s a stranger or worse, an unwanted guest here. He takes a cup and pours himself coffee before elaborating in a sarcastic tone: “But I think Quinlan will be happy to eat it all. His strength and speed must require a lot of regular fueling.”

Quinlan shakes his head at Nora offering him a plateful of omelet. “No, thank you.”

“You have to eat,” she insists.

“I don’t eat.” The vampire hunter cuts short, but his voice is soft and respectful. “Or drink.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Nora is slightly embarrassed. This is what Quinlan likes about her besides her beauty, intelligence, and strong character. Her golden heart. It also makes him guess what she’s seen in Dr Ephraim Goodweather who cheats on her right and left.

“I’ll go check that sword for you,” he says while Eph sips coffee, which, unfortunately, lacks a solid shot of bourbon, hating the fact that Nora is unlikely to have had to do anything to get in Quinlan’s good books. “Is it…?”

“Right there,” she points at the corridor at his left, “The second room on the right.”

Eph barely notices Nora’s efforts to enter into conversation with him as Quinlan heads to their improvised armoury. Following the dhampir’s back with his eyes, he boils with anger. Whether it’s caused by jealousy or lust, he has no clue. He just feels that if he doesn’t do something straight away, he will fling the cup at the nearest wall, so he places it back on the cupboard and hurries after Quinlan past perplexed Nora.

Quinlan knows that he, of course, shouldn’t have showed up here. He should have reverted to searching for the Master, his ultimate mission from which he deviated to take a trip to Washington, and stayed as far away from Dr Goodweather as possible for their mutual sake. He sure as hell would if only he was able to keep his distance instead of circling around because he’s attracted to the vivid smell of booze and blood that’s associated for him with the doctor now. Twiddling the sword he promised to fix, the dhampir wonders what it could be like to savour that blood – warm, fresh, and heady. What it could be like to be allowed by Dr Goodweather to drink it, overfilled with sexual desire in the beginning or with sexual gratification at the end. To be asked for it. _Provided that he has a notion of how to ask_ , Quinlan almost snorts to himself and smiles complacently at the recollection of Eph coming in his hand not so long ago. _Oh, I would make him beg for it of his own free will…_

At this very moment, Eph storms in and Quinlan turns round. Too abruptly as if he’s caught red-handed, doing something he shouldn’t.

“You get high on it?! Playing with everyone around you like a toy?” Eph is aware that he’s invaded the dhampir’s personal space just only to stand face-to-face with him, yet he doesn’t care. “What’s your endgame, I wouldn’t mind knowing? All three of us in one bed or it’s her you’re after?”

Having dropped the sword onto some box a step away from him, Quinlan grabs Dr Goodweather’s face by the jaw and squeezes it, “Shut up.”

“And if I don’t,” the obstinate flame of defiance blazes in Eph’s blue eyes, “you’ll kill me, I assume?”

Silently, Quinlan kisses him. His cold, firm lips crush the doctor’s lips, soft and responsive. It should have given him a fright, but no, Eph kisses him back while his hands are working on the belt of the vampire hunter’s trousers. Sensing this, Quinlan breaks the kiss.

“You haven’t been turned down once in your life, have you?” He is intrigued and amused by the doctor’s persistence and insolence.

“You may try to become the pathfinder.” This sentence is extremely ambiguous, not to say dubious; however, Eph has already grown used to enjoying their very twisted and sexualized way to communicate.

Meanwhile, the button is undone, the zip is unfastened, and Eph’s fingers are finally inside. What a surprise – all is in place, cold and firm as the rest of Quinlan’s body.

“Satisfied?” Quinlan’s calm voice makes him lift his head and look in the dhampir’s face.

“Not a bit.”

Dr Goodweather’s grin is the last straw. Nobody has ever turned Quinlan’s head more than this annoyingly arrogant, caustic alcoholic does. He snatches Eph’s wrists to twists his arms behind his back. After that, he kisses him again. In a different manner. Aggressively and demanding. Unexpectedly, the doctor doesn’t back off as if he’s not afraid of making out so intensively with the creature that’s not exactly human, and it’s when Quinlan loses his grip for good and all. He bites him – his lower lip – through. He sucks his blood, still kissing him, and gets hard on it.

“Dad?”

Zack’s voice coming from the corridor is as cold water poured on him. Having set Eph free from his grasp, Quinlan jumps back and does his trousers up. By the second the boy appears in the room, he has the sword in his hand and is on the way out.

“Dad,” Zack passes by the dhampir in the doorframe, “is that blood on your face?”

As Eph touches his lips, he realizes what was that metallic taste in his mouth during the second kiss. _He’s fucking bitten me_... He’s astonished. As if he’s read his mind, Quinlan shots a glance at him over his shoulder. The glance that pushes Eph dangerously close to hating his own son for interrupting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued next week after episode 9 is aired.


End file.
